


Double Up and Double Down

by Nanimok, njw, salazarastark (niewanyin), vellaphoria



Series: A Journey of Personal Discovery Through Social Isolation [9]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe Tim Gets Around, Brucequest, Dimension Travel, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Humor, M/M, Multiverse, Time Travel, two Tims are better than one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:15:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22152373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanimok/pseuds/Nanimok, https://archiveofourown.org/users/njw/pseuds/njw, https://archiveofourown.org/users/niewanyin/pseuds/salazarastark, https://archiveofourown.org/users/vellaphoria/pseuds/vellaphoria
Summary: “Okay,” Tim finally decides, “maybe you can help. So Bruce is lost in time—”“Oh my god,” the other Tim whispers, eyes going wide with realization. “So there’s a time travel as well as a multiverse component to the tech that brought me here. Interesting. But wait, where’s Jason? Why didn’t he back you up out there?” He looks around, frowning as though he expects Red Hood to pop out from under the bed or something.“Time travel? How long are we talking about here? And why would Red Hood be with me?” he asks, puzzled. No one believes him about Bruce being alive, especially not the man who still considers him nothing but a poor replacement.“...Shit.” Other Tim flops down on the narrow hotel couch. “Things are even more different here than I thought.”
Relationships: Alternate Universe Tim Drake/(Almost) Everyone, Tim Drake & Tim Drake, Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Series: A Journey of Personal Discovery Through Social Isolation [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1406953
Comments: 63
Kudos: 789





	Double Up and Double Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Azemex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azemex/gifts).



> Happy late birthday, Aze! We hope you enjoy this story, and that you have as much fun reading it as we did writing it. 
> 
> Quotes taken from Red Robin #2, #4, #12

**_Paris, France_ **

Bruce is out there, somewhere.

He has to be.

The map Tim has been carrying with him since Gotham is taped open on his hotel wall. It’s become a pincushion for every possible lead he could find; _anything_ that might help on this search.

A moth flutters around the cloth shade of the bedroom’s single lamp, trying to get to the bulb. The night air that drifts in through the open window is warm, but Tim still shivers.

He left the top half of his costume hanging in the bathroom to air out. The cape took the worst of the explosion, but the whole thing reeks of smoke and scorched metal.

The gang members wouldn’t have made it out unscathed. _If_ they made it out.

That sort of risk — even to criminals — is a line Tim’s never crossed before. A new shade of gray in a world that has previously only been black and white. He’s come across more of those lately. He doesn’t know how to feel about it.

He wants to wonder what Bruce would think: if he would think this path too dark, even for him, and that the end isn’t worth the means. But he knows he can’t waste time on that sort of introspection.

Bruce needs him. And Tim’s willing to risk his disappointment, even his hatred, if it brings him back.

Something shifts in the air.

On the tablet at the base of the lamp, the program monitoring the perimeter he set up pings. Tim glances down at it. _There_ , right on the roof outside his open window...

He has company.

As quietly as possible, he dashes back to the bathroom, pulling on the rest of his uniform. It’s nothing to get to a secondary window — one with no view of the room he was just in — and climb out of it.

On the roof, he sees three figures. A man with some sort of rifle aims and fires.

Right into the hotel room.

_Boom._

The building rocks with it, the force of the explosion shaking it to its very foundations. Fire spews forth from what was once Red Robin’s Paris base of operations. Far below, civilians are screaming.

Red Robin is already in the air. He grabs his grapple gun. Aims. Fires.

Right into the chin of the man who tried to kill him.

The hook knocks him down, startling the other two assailants, and flies straight by to find purchase on the building’s chimney. Red follows it, zipping up past the edge of the roof, his cape flaring out as he kicks the second of the two men in the chest.

“You’re freaking dead!” The woman’s body is tilted away so he can’t see what she’s doing, but based on her movements and the fury in her voice, it isn’t anything good. No time to do anything about that now. Her turn will come.

The man doesn’t take it lying down. He recovers quickly, throwing a punch that nearly takes Red off guard before he can block it.

Red stops the man’s knee before it connects with his chest, striking back at him.

Behind him, the man with the gun has recovered. He shouts to the first man to move. Calls him “Z.”

Z dodges, flipping into a back handspring that reminds Red of Dick for a moment before he ruthlessly banishes the thought.

_No distractions._

Red ducks, and the shot aimed at him goes high, exploding midair. “Whoa.” Yeah, that was a good shot.

It’s just enough distraction for Z to reengage with him, trying to get a punch in before —

A woman screams in a gruff, enraged voice. The crack of gunfire. “Dammit, Pru!” Z seems more irritated than angry, even though he’s in the line of fire, too.

Red leaps one way, Z leaps the other. A hail of bullets shreds the newly opened space between them as the woman starts yelling threats that would sound right at home in the worst parts of Gotham…

_No. He’s not thinking about that right now._

In the chaos of potentially friendly fire, Red ducks out of sight.

But this woman — “Pru,” Z called her — seems like a wildcard.

Red’s dealt with a few of those. They’re loud, brash, and generally just close enough to crazy to make facing them head on a _really_ bad idea.

That’s fine with him. He was the sneaky Robin for a reason.

On the other side of the exposed vent system, he can hear them searching. Quickly, he removes his cape, leaving it just within view of the open area of the roof.

Pru sees it. What she doesn’t see is the ambush Red has planned for her the second she turns the corner, distracted by the lack of vigilante attached to the cape —

A light appears between them.

It’s so bright that it’s nearly blinding.

Red ducks his head behind his arm, shielding his eyes from the glare.

Pru actually yelps in surprise, training her guns on what looks like a glowing… portal?

_What?_

A figure about Red’s height steps out from it, their features obscured by the white blaze of light before it disappears all at once, the portal vanishing in midair. Leaving the figure behind.

“What the _bloody hell — ?_ ” Pru asks, rhetorically, raising her guns to fire at the new person.

“...Pru?” the person asks.

He knows her? But...that voice. There’s something about his _voice._

“There’s _two_ of them?!” Pru yells.

That’s all Red hears before gunfire echoes through the air once more.

Pru is screaming, shooting.

Red reaches a hand out, powerless to stop this —

And the figure moves. He ducks the spray of bullets, dodging nimbly across the rooftop. Quicker than Red expects from most men in expensive business suits, the figure darts towards her.

Before Red even knows what’s going on, the man is in Pru’s face, throwing his momentum into a roundhouse kick so forceful that Tim hears something crack.

The woman grunts, the force of the hit knocking her back. When she looks up, it’s with enraged eyes and a hand clutching at where he’d kicked her.

“You broke my sodding nose!” she yells. Blood drips out from beneath her hand.

“Who hasn’t?” the man asks, sounding oddly unbothered. “Why are you shooting at me anyway? _Jason_ was the one who got into your whisky.” He looks around. “Also… where the hell are we?” he asks, confusion clear in his voice. 

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” the woman yells, gearing up for what looks like a second volley of bullets.

“Pru!” a voice calls from across the roof.

Red looks, seeing Z and the other man standing at the edge.

“This wasn’t in the mission parameters!” he yells. “We have to _go_.”

Without another word, Pru ducks away from the man, dashing across the roof towards her companions and then _leaping._

Z throws something like a smoke bomb behind them, obscuring the direction of their departure.

Somehow, it’s the least of Red’s concerns.

Because in that moment, the man turns around.

His hair is just on the side of too long, but not quite as much as Red’s has grown out while he’s been on the run. His eyes are light, with nothing of the haunted, lost look that’s caused Red to start avoiding mirrors. There are no dark circles under them.

But these observations are subconscious.

The second he sees the man’s face, there is only one thing that Red really notices before his brain goes completely offline, flashing error messages like someone tried to divide by zero.

Because the man wearing a business suit, staring back at him from a face that doesn’t look like he’s been running on no food and less sleep?

It’s _him_.

* * *

“I’m sorry,” Tim says. “Start at the beginning?”

They’ve moved to a secondary hotel. This one is all the way across Paris; far enough from the explosion that they won’t have to deal with inquiries by the police. Or — apparently — the _League of fucking Assassins_ coming back to finish the job.

The other Tim smiles encouragingly. It’s disconcerting to see such a positive emotion on his own face. “I know it’s a lot to take in,” he says. “It’s always weird seeing yourself from another universe, and having to deal with an evil alternate self is the _worst.”_

Memories of a gun-toting Batman flash through Tim’s mind and he shudders. Then he regards his alternate self, trying not to allow his sudden suspicion to show on his face. Other Tim laughs anyway, clearly picking up on it regardless and finding it amusing. “Shut up, I’m going on like two hours of sleep in the last couple of days right now.”

“It’s okay, I know what I look like when I’m riding high on a combination of sleep dep, coffee, adrenaline, and spite.” The other man sobers quickly, looking at him with concern. “What I don’t understand is _why._ What are you doing out here alone?”

Tim frowns. He still isn’t quite convinced his unexpected multiversal visitor is entirely trustworthy. “Why should I tell you anything?”

The other Tim bites his lip, brows drawing together in thought. Then he shrugs. “I can help?” At Tim’s snort, he continues, “No, really. I was doing some experiments on a piece of tech we, ah, _appropriated_ from Luthor Labs. One thing we managed to figure out is it needs a full eight days to recharge before it can be used again. I’m stuck here, so I might as well make myself useful.”

Tim eyes his double appraisingly. Everything about him, from his business attire to his attitude so far, supports his claim that his arrival here was nothing but an accident. Any Tim Drake — whether benevolent, evil, or morally gray — would know better than to intentionally enter another universe without an appropriate arsenal of weaponry, tech, and multilayered contingency plans for every possible outcome.

This guy definitely came here by accident. So, might as well take him at his word. If he goes darkside at any point, well, the best weapon to combat a Tim Drake is obviously another Tim Drake.

“Okay,” he finally decides, “maybe you can help. So Bruce is lost in time—”

“Oh my god,” the other Tim whispers, eyes going wide with realization. “So there’s a time travel as well as a multiverse component to the tech that brought me here. Interesting. But wait, where’s Jason? Why didn’t he back you up out there?” He looks around, frowning as though he expects Red Hood to pop out from under the bed or something.

“Time travel? How long are we talking about here? And why would Red Hood be with me?” he asks, puzzled. No one believes him about Bruce being alive, especially not the man who still considers him nothing but a poor replacement.

“...Shit.” Other Tim flops down on the narrow hotel couch. “Things are even more different here than I thought. Ah, so. Three years ago, Jason and I went together to track down clues to Bruce’s whereabouts. We got the evidence we needed, and then the JLA brought him back.” He looks at Tim, worry visible in his expression as his gaze travels over him, probably noting every tiny clue giving away his current state of exhaustion and near-despair. “Okay, start at the beginning.” He pauses, then smirks. “Wait, be right back. We’re going to need _so much_ coffee for this.”

A while later, they’re both curled on the couch, feet tangled companionably. Other Tim’s given him some amazing insights into the way his Brucequest played out, although of course there’s no guarantee the same evidence will exist in the exact same places in his universe. Still, it’s an incredible affirmation for his theories. A few of the jagged edged, shattered pieces inside him pull together fractionally at the validation.

It’s kind of sad that the only person who’s willing to believe in him is another version of himself. Still, at this point he’ll take whatever he can get. At least it isn’t Ra’s.

“Pru’s never been friends with anyone who hasn’t broken her nose at least once. It’s kind of a Thing,” Other Tim is saying. “But she’s awesome, really. Can almost keep up with _Cass_ during a drinking contest, it’s insane. As for Z and Owens, they’re great, too. Owens is hilarious if he gets drunk enough to start singing showtunes.”

Tim blinks, not quite able to reconcile these descriptions with the people he literally _fought for his life against_ earlier. Then he raises an eyebrow as something occurs to him. “Wait, you went straight for her face and broke her nose. Isn’t that a little harsh, for someone you consider to be a friend in your universe?”

“Pru’s never been friends with anyone who hasn’t broken her nose at least once. It’s kind of a Thing.” Other Tim repeats as he smiles fondly, and okay, Tim can’t keep calling him that all the time. It’s going to be confusing enough as it is.

“What should I call you, anyway?” He sees other Tim’s mouth open, and narrows his eyes. “Don’t you even try it. My universe, I call Tim. So you have to choose something else.”

Other Tim snorts, then shrugs his capitulation with good grace. “Fine. I’ll be Timothy. I’d rather not go by something that isn’t some iteration of my actual name, not if I’m going to be here for much more than a week.”

Fair enough. “Timothy.” Tim nods. Weird, but not too bad. They can make this work.

“Okay,” Timothy says, clearly getting back to business, “so I get that things are weird here and the rest of the Bats aren’t going to help you for whatever reason, but why couldn’t you just ask one of our other exes to help out? Slade would be willing to call in some favors. And—”

“Wait, _what?”_ Tim blinks, squeezing his eyes closed hard. There’s no way he heard what he thought he did. No Tim in _any_ universe would do _that._ He must be so tired, he’s experiencing auditory hallucinations. “Okay, you know what? Never mind. I obviously need a nap.”

Timothy looks startled, then apologetic. “Oh, damn. Yeah, we should have gotten you to bed a while ago. You really need it. Go ahead and try to get some sleep. I’ll keep watch,” his probably-not-evil alternate self says.

Whatever, Tim knows he’ll wake up the second the other man makes a move, if it comes to that. His training wouldn’t allow for anything less. Timothy smiles ruefully, clearly knowing the same thing. “G’night, me,” Tim says, rising and stumbling a few feet over to the single queen-sized bed before allowing himself to flop bonelessly down. As he closes his eyes, he feels someone gently tugging off his shoes.

“G’night, me,” Timothy says softly, voice fond. “Sleep well.”

* * *

Timothy tilts his head as he looks at the boy asleep in front of him. Because that’s what this alternate universe counterpart is. A boy.

Not just in terms of age, though he’s done the math and figured that Tim (he hates that the other him managed to call dibs on the name) must be seventeen, to be searching for Bruce lost in the timeline. Although it’s odd that Tim has not yet dated Slade. Has he dated Bruce yet? Fucked Ra’s? Probably not.

Of course, he knows that Tim can call Kon and Bart, because it might not have been a long relationship with either of them, but God they had been fun (and exhausting). And in the period when they had overlapped? He was in absolute heaven.

Of course, he doubts that he — Tim — they (oh, this could get confusing) can call Dick, because that was the worst break-up Timothy has ever had the misfortune of going through. He’s made up with Dick over the years, but his heart still aches when he thinks about the fact that the man he once loved crushed his heart and smeared it into dust by making Damian Robin, to the point that he feels his throat choke up even four years removed.

Perhaps it’s simply because he’s looking at the boy who just had it happen to him.

With a sigh, Timothy lies down on the bed, stretching his body as he continues looking at Tim’s face.

He truly can’t believe he ever looked that young, especially when he felt so old at that moment in time.

And that’s when he had Jason with him, and this Tim doesn't have anyone at all. It might have been a couple years (and Slade and Bruce and Ra’s) before they really got together, but looking back on it, Timothy can honestly say that _this_ is when he fell in love with Jason Peter Todd. It’s when he fell in love with his quick wit and his dorky jokes and the way he moved his hands _constantly_ when he talked. It’s when Timothy found peace while falling asleep against that warm and broad chest. When he would save pictures and memes that he saw throughout the day to show Jason just so he could see that smile, or when he knew Jason was having a bad day and hoped a ‘random’ little text would cheer him up. It’s when he met a boy who wasn’t the Red Hood and wasn’t Robin, but was still a hero in his own right, with a heart so big it took Tim's breath away because a man who could love so much couldn’t be real, and Timothy couldn’t be so lucky as to have him.

But somehow, Jason fell in love with him too, and these days it’s usually Jason he falls asleep next to.

Timothy decides then and there that he’s going to do two things.

He’s going to help Tim find Bruce, and then? Then he’s going to help him find _Jason_.

Plans fill his mind as he falls asleep.

He wakes up in the morning before Tim does, but even in this world, he awakens with a nudge. They both spring into action, packing quickly and efficiently. “Just like with Mom and Dad,” he says, trying to break the ice.

Tim frowns. “What do you mean, like Mother and Father?”

Timothy shrugs. “You know, when we went on the digs.” He sees the moment Tim freezes, and his heart lurches in his chest. “We didn’t go on the digs, did we?”

Tim shakes his head. “They didn’t want children getting underfoot. I was left in the hands of caretakers and nannies since I was born. I was lucky if I saw them for a time equivalent to three months in a year, and even luckier if a month of that was uninterrupted.”

He can’t help it. Timothy laughs, high and bitter, because the idea of not having his parents in his life? His mother not reading to him every night, and his father not helping him pick out his first camera? Not going all over the world with them on their archeological digs, both of them making sure to be qualified to homeschool him so that he could get an education in both school and the world all throughout his early years? He can’t remember not spending more than a month without them in his childhood. “Nothing?” he whispers once his painful laughter dies down. “No happy memories?”

Tim looks down at his cuticles. “I enjoyed when they left. It meant that none of us had to pretend anymore than they liked me.”

That’s it. Before Timothy can even think he’s wrapping Tim in his arms, drawing him close. “Bruce is more than your mentor, isn't he?” Timothy can’t imagine Bruce being anything more than the handsome man who trained him, the man that he had a whirlwind ‘romance’ with when Bruce had gotten magically deaged for five months and wanted to… test out the differences between his young and old body.

Many, many times.

But for _this_ Tim…

“We’re looking for your dad right now, aren’t we?” His mind flashes to the Tim Wayne on the ID card that he saw in his wallet while he was snooping. He thought it was just a bad cover, but now he thinks he knows better.

“Yes,” Tim whispers into Timothy’s neck, his voice choked with tears. It just makes him squeeze even tighter.

“Don’t worry. We’ll find him. No boy should ever be without his parents.”

And maybe when he gets back to his world, he can replicate the experiments of traveling to this world with his own parents, aiming for a time when this Jack and Janet might be in Gotham.

They’ll certainly have some words to say. Although he doesn’t want to screw around with the timeline too much. Well, he’ll figure it out later.

* * *

  
**_Arabian Desert, Iraq_ **

Tim eyes Timothy speculatively as they trudge across the loose sand together toward what he hopes — and Timothy claims — will be definitive proof that Bruce is alive. He’s wearing the Red Robin suit while Timothy’s decked out in the all black combat suit they cobbled together for him along the way.

“Why are we letting them tag along, again?” Glancing over his shoulder, Tim raises a brow at the three assassins who are trailing along after them like well-armed ducklings.

Z doesn’t react at all, Pru scoffs, and Owens’ lips twitch like he wants to smile. Tim snorts a laugh despite himself. Even knowing these guys are deadly assassins who would probably just as soon slit his throat as befriend him, depending on their orders, they’ve been growing on him.

Ever since their misguided attempts to “help” at the museum heist in Berlin and the airport in Baghdad turned out to be unnecessary — thank Timothy’s foreknowledge and resourcefulness for _that_ — they’ve just been tagging along, offering minor assistance and suggestions as needed. It turns out Z gets almost chatty when he’s relaxing around a campfire. Owens gave the Tims some moleskin for their blisters yesterday while they were hiking around another section of desert. Even Pru’s snark seems more playful and less vindictive now, although he’s pretty sure she’s still pissed about the whole nose thing.

Still, it’s kind of bizarre that Timothy seems bent on keeping them close on this quest to find evidence of Bruce being alive. Tim has no intention of accepting any of Ra’s al Ghul’s offers to come to the dark side, especially not now that he has his alternate self as backup.

“Oh, you’ll see,” Timothy answers, with an infuriating little smirk. Just like he has every other time Tim’s asked. What a jerk.

The only thing stopping him from insisting on more of an explanation is the hand signal that accompanies it this time.

_Enemies. Be alert._

Well, okay then. He knows better than to doubt himself, although he’s beginning to understand how annoying it can be to be the one in the dark. Maybe he owes his friends and teammates some apologies later.

Tim keeps his eyes trained on their surroundings as they approach the sandstone and conglomerate outcrops where the petroglyphs of the bat are rumored to be hidden. According to Timothy, there should be definite evidence here of Bruce being lost in time. He can’t help but worry, though. What if their universes are too different? What if there’s nothing here?

How can he deal with it, if it turns out he’s wrong about everything?

They’ve got to climb a few meters to reach the cave, but the jumbled colluvium and coarse grained bedrock provide plenty of handholds. Timothy hangs back. By this point, Tim trusts him enough to let him handle keeping watch for whatever mysterious enemy he’s worried might materialize.

And then they’re there. Tim lights a flare, raising it high as his gaze darts over the interior of the small, irregularly shaped cavern. The light dances on the walls, illuminating what he immediately recognizes as proof positive.

Bruce isn’t dead. He’s lost… and it all begins here.

He stares at the petroglyphs for another long moment, feelings of triumph and hope surging through him. Having Timothy’s support has been amazing, but _this…_

Vindication tastes so sweet.

Finally, he tears himself away from the sight. Turning, he makes his way back to the mouth of the cave and looks down at the assassin trio, who are all waiting for him by the jeep.

Pru rolls her eyes. “Can we go now?”

Z crosses his arms and regards him warmly. “And how do you feel, Tim Drake?” He must see Tim’s happiness and relief. Stupid assassins and their incredible ability to read people.

Tim can’t help the little smile that passes over his face, a sense of accomplishment and hope still washing through him. They’re all distracted, sharing his moment of triumph and completion.

That’s probably why no one notices the sword about to impale Z until it’s too late.

Well, almost no one.

“This party is by invitation only,” Timothy quips as he blocks the potentially lethal blow with his bo-staff. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Holy shit!” Z spins in place, falling into line at Timothy’s side to face off against their opponent, a viciously sneering cowled man clad in black, with a red hourglass symbol on his chest. He’s wielding wicked looking blades in each hand, and he looks more than ready to use them.

“Bloody hell, where’d _he_ come from?” Pru mutters as she and Owens quickly fall into position flanking the others, surrounding the mystery assailant. Tim jumps lightly down from the outcrop, moving fast to back the others up.

“Assassins,” the man says grandly, “I am the Widower. Please try to put up a fight — _oof!”_ He collapses inelegantly, a blow dart in his neck.

As he falls, Timothy slides what’s probably a dart gun into a pouch on his uniform, lips twitching into a grin. “Well, that was anticlimactic.” He nudges the Widower with a boot, then nods his head to Z. “You might want to get this guy bound and back to Ra’s. He and his Council of Spiders are _probably_ plotting the League’s downfall as we speak. Oh, and the Expediter’s almost certainly compromised. Like, literally full of spiders compromised. Uh, good luck with that.”

Pru and Owens just stare at Timothy in disbelieving shock until Z nudges them into action. Dropping down to begin binding the unconscious man, Pru mutters, “And bloody _when_ were you gonna tell us this, huh?”

“I just did!” Timothy protests, then grins at their baleful looks. “No, seriously, it was better this way. For all I knew, things in this universe would be totally different. The last thing I wanted to do was set the League against these guys if they were innocent here.”

“And what about me?” Tim bites his lip, eyeing his double doubtfully. “It would’ve been safe to warn me.” Doubts set to rest days ago rise once more, and he wonders if he’s been too quick to trust the other man.

Timothy looks vaguely apologetic. “Ah, yeah, sorry about that. I’d calculated with all the differences between our universes, there was about a twenty-five percent chance things were altered enough the Council wouldn’t be a problem here. You’ve got more than enough on your plate right now. I didn’t want to give you one more thing to worry about.”

Oh. Well, that makes sense. “Okay,” he allows. “But in the future, I’d rather know.”

“Duly noted,” Timothy says, grinning at him. Together, they watch as the assassin trio hurriedly binds the assassin and begins dragging him away. “Uh, are they planning to take him in our jeep?”

Z snorts a laugh, grinning back over his shoulder. “No, young detectives, we will call this in. The matter is urgent enough our master will likely send a helicopter to collect us.”

Left alone, Tim blinks at Timothy. “Well, that was… a thing that happened.”

Timothy huffs a laugh. “Yep. Let’s not do that again.” Tilting his head, he raises his brows in inquiry. “So, you found the petroglyphs, right? You looked really happy when you came out of the cave. You know, before the mayhem and murder attempts.”

Just the reminder that he finally has proof of Bruce’s continued existence is enough to bring a grin to Tim’s face. “Yeah, it was there.”

“Awesome!” Timothy cheers, leaning over to bump their shoulders together. “So now it’s just a matter of sending the evidence off to the Justice League and letting them bring him back.”

It’s true. Only…

Tim turns to regard his double. “Yeah. But first, are there any more interesting things that happened on your version of Brucequest that you think might be useful to repeat here?”

Timothy blinks slowly, then smirks. “Well, I _did_ bring down the Council of Spiders, and blow up the League of Assassins’ bases…” Seeing Tim’s disbelieving expression, he explains, “Ra’s got a little grabby and started trying to take over Wayne Enterprises while Bruce was presumed dead.” Smiling fondly, he shakes his head. “Oh, Ra’s.”

Not for the first time, the thought darts into Tim’s mind that Timothy’s voice sounds awfully affectionate when he mentions Ra’s. And Slade. And… Nope, not thinking about it. He shakes his head, trying to push those thoughts away. “Okay. So there’s more work to do still.”

“Yeah. Stopping the Council would save a lot of lives, and the League of Assassins shouldn’t be allowed to control WE. And since you’re not CEO of Drake Industries like I am, it’ll probably be really easy to set you up as majority shareholder to block him. So, you up for it?” Timothy grins expectantly.

Wow. That… actually sounds kind of fun. Tim grins back. “Well, we’ve got some time.”

* * *

**_The Cradle, Location Unknown_ **

The look on Ra’s’s face when _two_ Tim Drakes step out of the chopper is _priceless_.

As in, Tim doesn’t think that Ra’s, Bruce, and Lex Luthor combined could pull together enough money to make him give up the experience of seeing it.

It is the first (and, as he’ll later realize, _only_ ) time that Tim sees Ra’s’s mouth _almost_ drop. Almost being the key word, of course. It’s a gap not even big enough for a bug to fly into, but Ra’s still can’t cover it up before Tim gets a good look.

He schools his features quickly though, until the only remaining sign of Ra’s’s surprise is a faintly twitching left eyebrow.

“I must say, Detective,” Ra’s says, his hand resting on the pommel of his blade, “This is certainly a most _unexpected_ development.”

Tim walks forward, stepping around the arid brush native to the region until he’s barely five feet away from Ra’s.

“Yeah, well.” He shrugs. “It’s not like I saw it coming either.”

Timothy steps up, standing shoulder to shoulder to Tim. The look he gives Ra’s isn’t something Tim wants to read into.

“Ra’s al Ghul, I presume?” Timothy asks, a slight smirk in his voice.

Ra’s’s eyebrow stops twitching as he raises it, looking at Timothy skeptically before turning back to Tim. “I suppose I should not be surprised at your ability to do the unexpected, Detective. You have always been most… _interesting.”_

“Has my counterpart already made such an impression on you so quickly?” The smirk in Timothy’s voice has intensified, and Tim is starting to have a bad feeling about this.

“Timothy,” Ra’s says, his eyes traveling over them, one eyebrow rising. “And… my agents never caught your name. How terribly incompetent of them. Another doppelganger, perhaps?”

Before Tim can tell Ra’s to shove it, Timothy says, “The fact that you have to fish out the answer means you’re losing your touch, old man.”

“Insolence transcends dimensions, then,” Ra’s says. “I did wonder about the energy discrepancy recorded. I suppose I have my answer.”

“Just now?” Timothy shakes his head. “How disappointing. I expected your retinue to be as ruthless, or at least as thorough, as I know their master to be, but then I’ve only just arrived, no?”

“Hold your tongue, Timothy,” Ra’s says darkly. “Before I pluck it out for your impudence.”

“I have it on good word that you admire my tongue,” Timothy says. “Possibly more so in the council room than the — well, I think you get the gist of it.”

Tim blinks, as he stops the hot-white embarrassment from filtering through his expression because he does get the gist of it and _oh my god, what has Timothy been doing with Ra’s?_

Ra’s only raises one curious eyebrow. “You worked for me,” he says, focusing on the complete wrong thing in Tim’s opinion.

“We helped each other.” Timothy puts a hand on his hip. “I saved your life. Many times.”

“Don’t pretend as if you hadn’t benefited from our arrangement.”

“Oh, I benefited,” Timothy says, his voice turning all smooth and velvety. “Actually, in time, I learnt to fully appreciate _all_ the things you had to teach me.”

 _“Christ,”_ Tim mutters.

“Indeed,” Ra’s says as — to Tim’s horror — the corner of his lip quirks up. “You’re not quite what I expected an apprentice of mine to be.”

“Charming, I hope.”

“Brazen. Bold in a manner which could be mistaken as idiocy.”

“I mean, I could be a wilting flower if you wanted me to be,” Timothy says. “Wouldn’t be the first time the request has come up, but I’m flexible.”

Ra’s tips his head. “Quite, Detective.”

“No need for all that ‘Detective’ stuff, Timothy is _more_ than fine,” Timothy says, extending his hand.

A slow smile curls across Ra’s’s face. He enfolds Timothy’s hand between his own, one of his thumbs brushing across his knuckles.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Ra’s purrs.

There’s an undercurrent to his voice which sends chills down Tim’s spine, and he has to fight against taking a step back.

Timothy, on the other hand, seems to take a step closer.

“I’m certain,” he mutters, tilting his head just enough to bare a small bit of neck to Ra’s.

Ra’s hums appreciatively. His eyes flash with green.

Which just so happens to be the color Tim’s _face_ is going to be if he has to watch… whatever the hell this is for any longer.

“Okaaaay,” Tim cuts in, squaring up with something straight out of his nightmares.

It takes Ra’s and Timothy a moment to notice, but when they do, the two of them turn to face him.

Ra’s looks mildly annoyed by the interruption. Timothy looks amused, if anything.

They’re still caught up in their way-too-long handshake.

“We’re _kinda_ on a deadline here,” Tim says, narrowing his eyes in a way that he hopes conveys his _extreme_ displeasure with this development.

With a final caress of Timothy’s hand, the two separate. They don’t move any farther apart.

Tim is going to be sick.

“Unfortunately, he’s right,” Timothy says, glancing up at Ra’s, all business now. “Your Expediter’s been compromised. I advise you to neutralize him immediately.”

Tim would think that the suspicion in Ra’s expression would temper the dubious affection, but no.

“And how have you come to that conclusion, Timothy?” Ra’s asks.

“Because I’ve been here before.” Timothy’s expression grows serious. “You already guessed that there couldn’t be two of us _this_ suddenly without an alternate universe being involved. Cloning would take too long, and if you’re as… _thorough_ as the Ra’s from my universe, I’m certain you know Tim doesn’t have a twin.”

Ra’s smiles, but the effect is slight enough that only someone who had spent an unfortunate amount of time around him would notice. “For now, we shall assume that I believe you,” he says, though in Tim’s humble opinion he doesn’t look all that skeptical. “How has my Expediter become… ‘compromised,’ as you say?”

“The Council of Spiders,” Tim says. “One of them tracked us through the desert. Almost got the drop on us, too.”

Ra’s glances at the assassins who have remained silent up to this point (seemingly unwillingly in Pru’s case, based on the hand Owen has slapped over her mouth).

“This is true, Master,” Z says, bowing slightly as he addresses Ra’s.

Owens yelps quietly, yanking his hand away from Pru — who seems to have _bitten_ him.

“That’s all ya got ‘ta say?” she hisses. “That bleedin’ wanker almost _impaled you —_ coulda turned you into a fuckin’ _spit roast._ ”

“ _Pru_ ,” Z mutters. “Not here.”

Owens, recovered from his momentary shock, wrestles Pru into a headlock, covering her mouth once more.

When Tim looks back, Ra’s seems unimpressed, though not at all surprised.

“Sac will be the one who’s infiltrated the base,” Timothy says. “He has the power to control small spiders… and to infest people with them. Once the spiders take over their host, he can control their actions from a distance. Then, once the host has served their purpose, the spiders emerge to infect others. All at once.”

Over by the helicopter, Pru looks like she’s about to throw up. Tim can empathize.

“That is quite the _unfortunate_ development.” Ra’s gestures and a ninja emerges from a previously empty-seeming shadow. At Ra’s’s nod, the ninja bows before making her way into the entrance of The Cradle. “I am familiar with the Council,” he says. “Though I admit I believed it would be some time yet before they turned their attention to the League.”

“So you believe us?” Tim asks, narrowing his eyes.

“It is the most plausible explanation for why my assassins have been disappearing as of late. I had suspected them...” Ra’s turns to Timothy once more. “But required more evidence before my suspicions could be confirmed.”

The sounds of a scuffle echo through the entrance of the base.

Tim turns to look, just in time to see the Expediter being dragged out by a team of ninja, kicking and screaming.

“Unhand me!” he yells, thrashing frantically.

The ninja ignore it entirely, pushing him forward to sprawl in the dust before yanking him upwards into a kneeling position before Ra’s.

“What is the meaning of th — _Master!”_ the Expediter cuts himself off, prostrating himself.

“Expediter,” Ra’s says. The air around him seems to drop three degrees from his tone alone. “Do you know why you are here?”

“I … I — uh,” the Expediter stutters, possibly through a mouthful of dirt. “I do not know, your eminence.”

Ra’s hums disapprovingly.

“Very well,” he says. His eyes slide to one of the ninja behind the Expediter. He nods, and the assassin begins to draw her sword, only to pause a moment later. She’s staring in frozen shock, and everyone follows her gaze to what looks like a dart which is now protruding from the Expediter’s neck. The man himself slumps to the ground with a soft sigh. Ra’s raises an eyebrow. “You disapprove of my method of dealing with this, Timothy?” His lips curl, and the expression on his face as he stares at Timothy makes Tim feel vaguely dirty.

Ew.

Timothy just laughs, sliding the dart gun into his pocket — and seriously, what’s with him and that dart gun? It seems to be his preferred weapon, the same way Tim’s is the bo-staff. “I had plenty of time to study the various members of the Council of Spiders, and their methods of dispatching their victims. I’ve just administered a chemical compound which acts as a tranquilizer for humans, and shoulder be lethal for any unwanted arachnid passengers. You’re welcome.” He edges minutely closer to an appreciative looking Ra’s again, because of course he does.

Rolling his eyes at the highly unwelcome spectacle, Tim makes a mental note to remind Timothy about sharing potentially useful information _ahead_ of time instead of leaving him just as surprised as everyone else when he pulls moves like this. “So what would have happened if you hadn’t tranqed him just now?”

Making a face, Timothy answers, “I’m pretty sure if we’d let Ra’s kill him, all the spiders would have come bursting out.” At the horrified expression that must be on Tim’s face right now, the other man shrugs. “You asked!”

“Well, that’s harrowing,” Tim mutters, gaze edging back over to the unconscious and apparently spider-filled man against his will. Thankfully, a group of assassins seem to be in the process of carrying him from the room. Good. “Let’s move on.” He probably looks about as shaken as he feels. It’s not every day that you imagine thousands, maybe millions of spiders bursting out of a human being. Even in Gotham.

Timothy seems to be handling it a bit better, but only just.

Ra’s looks unaffected. The bastard.

“With that taken care of,” Ra’s says, turning to the two of them. “My agents inform me that the Council has eight full members.” His gaze slides to Timothy, who nods his agreement with the assessment. “As it stands, I am afraid that our efforts in locating your former mentor,” his eyes slide to Tim, “must be temporarily put on hold while we deal with this inconvenience.”

He glances at Timothy. Timothy glances back. Despite his earlier — and Tim can’t believe he’s about to think this — _flirting_ with Ra’s, they seem to be in agreement that telling Ra’s about the information they sent to the Justice League would _not_ be in their best interest.

“ _Seriously_?” Tim asks, between clenched teeth. He hopes he isn’t overselling it.

Ra’s… smirks.

Tim’s fist itches to hit him.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Ra’s says. “You are aware of the scope of the League of Assassins, are you not? Surely you are aware of the catastrophe that would grow from any power vacuum the League would leave behind if the Council happens to get the better of us.”

He sounds _so_ smug when he says it, too.

In Tim’s humble opinion, Ra’s’ ego is too big for him to believe that _anyone_ could ever get the upper hand against his little eco terrorist cult. Chances are he’s just trying to mess with them for his own amusement.

Tim’s about to say as much, when Timothy jabs a sharp but subtle elbow into his ribs.

Tim chokes down his surprise, pouring all of his excess emotion into glaring at Ra’s.

“ _Fine,_ ” he spits out. “What do you want?”

Ra’s eyes shift to Timothy and then back to Tim. The path of his gaze is slow and lingering over the both of them. Appraising, almost.

His mouth curls into a speculative smirk, his eyelids ever so slightly hooded.

“Quite the loaded question, _Detective,_ ” he says.

Timothy meets his stare, looking back with barely concealed interest.

Tim… isn’t even going there.

“Let me rephrase,” he snaps. “What do you want us to do to help you take care of the Council so that we can _go back to finding Bruce?_ ”

Ra’s chuckles, resting his hand once more on his sword.

“Well, as it happens, I do recently seem to be lacking an Expediter… or two. Depending on how long it takes my former servant to recover from his… affliction.”

“I’m already working for you, Ra’s,” Tim grumbles.

“Then consider yourself promoted,” Ra’s says. “My dear Detective, you will help me rid the world of those disgusting abominations who call themselves the Council of Spiders, and, once they have been defeated, we will resume the search for your former mentor.”

“ _Current_ mentor,” Tim hisses.

Ra’s’s expression says he would _very much_ like to change that, if he had his way.

“Do we have a deal?” Ra’s asks.

“And where am I in all this?” Timothy asks.

“That is _entirely_ your decision,” Ra’s purrs. “I anticipated that you would serve as dual Expediters, but if that is not to your liking, I am certain we can find plenty of other suitable _positions_.”

“Co-Expediter is perfectly fine for now, Ra’s.” Timothy smirks. “But I’ll consider your other offer.”

And… now they’re doing the staring thing again. Just _great_.

“Okay!” Tim interrupts. Both Ra’s and Timothy turn in the direction of his outburst. “Now that that’s settled, where do we start?”

Ra’s snaps and the ninja who carried the former Expediter out of the base assemble in two lines, forming a sort of walkway to the entrance of the Cradle.

“Follow me,” Ra’s says. With a flourish, he turns to the rows of ninja. His robe sweeps dramatically behind him as he makes his way between them, eventually descending deeper into the earth and out of sight.

The ninja stay as still as statues.

Tim glances back to the three assassins; for now, they seem content to follow him at his own pace. He turns back to Timothy, and the two of them share a silent look of agreement before following Ra’s into the base, side by side.

No more words pass between them, but none need to.

After all, they have a mission to complete.

* * *

Timothy leans back in his chair with a quiet sigh, absently reaching to the side where his hand closes on — a water bottle? Frowning, he sits up straight and turns to regard it more carefully, as though it will somehow morph back into the coffee cup he was expecting. Nope, still a water bottle. He looks at Tim accusingly. “Did you drink my coffee?”

“What?” Tim tears his eyes away from the events unfolding on the screens surrounding them, then blinks. “Hey, wait, where’s _my_ coffee?” Everything about him speaks to his innocence, from his posture to the way he immediately begins searching the room for another culprit. Which means…

“You,” Timothy growls, turning to nail Pru with his gaze.

The assassin scoffs, leaning back against the wall and crossing her arms. “The Master wants to keep you two eedjits around, for whatever reason. I’m not going to let you kill yourselves or pass out on my watch. Now drink your damn water!”

He’s just drawing himself up, preparing a scathing retort when Tim murmurs, “They’re moving in Barcelona. Action in Istanbul as well, and it looks like the target in London is about to take the bait.”

Whipping back around to face the screens again, Timothy doesn’t even notice as he cracks open the water bottle and sucks it down. “Pru,” he murmurs, entranced by the action unfolding on the screens, “bring us some popcorn.”

The woman rolls her eyes and shoves her way out the door, grumbling, “I’m only doing this because the Master ordered me to make your stay here comfortable. Don’t think I won’t get you back for this!”

On one screen, red and silver blurs arc across the camera’s field of vision; Recluse and Tangle fight back to back against a full team of ninja. Recluse tears through the ranks, slashing at anything that dares come too close. Behind him lies a trail of writhing bodies, sizzling poison eating away at any wounds sustained by his steel claws. The ninja smart enough to get too close instead find themselves stalked from the shadows; Tangle’s laser garotte flashes through the air — there one moment and gone the next. It’s enough to get through the reinforced weave of their costumes, but, working as a team, they manage to tackle him en-force right before he can slit the neck of one of their team members. Once they subdue him and tie him down, they’re free to rush Recluse. He manages to take down a few of them, but there are too many. Eventually, he goes down in a flood of ninja.

Timothy nearly startles when Pru sneaks up behind him and drops a warm bowl in his hands, but he manages to hide his reaction. Can’t do with her thinking that it’s possible to surprise him. It’s filled to the brim with popcorn covered in what looks like extra, _extra_ butter. She reaches down and grabs a huge handful right off the top before shoving the entire thing in her mouth.

“Really?” Tim asks.

Pru just glares and grabs another handful, staring sulkily at the screens.

The team in Barcelona is in action. Goliath — the massive spider-human hybrid — seems to be hanging off a spire of the Sagrada Familia basilica like some sort of arachnid King Kong. He leaps, using the height to slam into the street below. The concrete splinters and cracks around his point of impact, and from it several smaller spiders emerge. Sac must be there too, but Timothy can’t see him on any of the league’s cameras.

The ninja around them scatter, dodging the smaller spiders as well as the massive swings of Goliath’s arms. Timothy changes the camera angle. It’s chaos on the ground. While Goliath controls the middle of the plaza, Sac and Widower take either end, twin sickles and kopesh flashing as the ninja engage them.

Timothy leans forward in his seat. Out of the corners of his eyes, Tim and Pru lean with him, drawn to the screen.

The battle isn’t going well, between Sac’s spiders, and the sheer offensive capability of Goliath and Widower.

For a brief, terrifying moment, Timothy thinks it’s going to be a complete rout. The ninja are falling. Blades whirl. Goliath roars, loud above the battle.

A shot rings out, echoing throughout the plaza.

Everyone freezes.

Widower falls to the ground.

On a distant rooftop, Owens lines up another shot.

Tim nearly jumps out of his seat. “Did he — ?!”

Pru puts her hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down.

“Relax, birdbrain,” she says. “Owens is one of the best marksmen in the world. He’s good enough to take that git down without bloody killin’ him, though why ya’ gave them _that_ order, I got no idea.”

Timothy looks at the two of them, a slight smirk on his face. His counterpart really is such an innocent in some ways. It’s adorable.

Tim sags back in the chair, the tension draining out of him.

“Still, ‘least he’s injured,” Pru says, leaning her hip against the console. “After what that bastard did ta’ Z, I know _I’ll_ sleep better knowin’ he’s down.”

On that count, Timothy has to agree.

Another shot, and Sac’s down. The spiders retreat back beneath the earth, leaving only Goliath against waves upon waves of ninja. One shot from Owens isn’t enough to take him down, but under the ninja’s assault, upwards of twelve shots seems to do the trick.

Timothy’s glad that the League has Killer Croc-level restraining devices on hand for this, but he’s not sure he wants to know why they had them in the first place. He presses a button, switching to the operation in Istanbul.

Compared to the raid on Barcelona, the ninja seem to have it easy for this one. Timothy had outfitted them with an EMP that would take out Wolf’s mechanical arms, leaving him four guns short. Against just two guns and Funnel — who Timothy had to assure Tim was much less of a threat once you’d broken her cover — the ninja were able to coordinate more efficiently.

It shows. When the screen switches to Istanbul, Funnel and Wolf are already knocked out and tied up. One of the ninja gives the camera a thumbs up, which for some reason is the most hilarious thing Timothy has seen in recent memory.

Finally, they switch to London.

And Wanderer.

Timothy has had more than his share of experience with her, though Tim apparently has been fortunate enough never to have met her. And it’s made him glad that he chose to go with a cowl in more than one universe, even if it does look a bit ridiculous. Wanderer is easily the most dangerous of their targets; able to kill with a single touch from bare skin anywhere on her body. Even with the advanced intel he was able to give the teams, taking her down is no simple task.

Which is why they sent an expert.

Z’s right where he’s supposed to be, walking briskly through Westminster Underground Station. Behind him, there’s a commotion and shouting as a crowd begins to gather around a man lying on the ground. The well known, popular MP seems to have collapsed on his way to work. Z smirks as he takes his place on the escalator to the street exits, and doesn’t look back at his handiwork.

Of course, that isn’t actually the MP, and he isn’t really dying of a lethal stab wound right now. The carefully disguised assassin will be picked up in a few minutes by what looks like a legitimate ambulance, but instead of being transported to St. Thomas’ Hospital across the Thames, he’ll be brought straight around to the back entrance to help pick up the Wanderer.

At least, that’s the theory. It all hinges on Z’s skills, at this point.

Tim seems to be having the same thought. He frowns, still staring at the screen as the Wanderer eyes the scene, waiting for her moment. “Are you sure Z is up for this? There’s a lot of ways it can go wrong.”

Timothy grins. “Oh, just watch. He’s got this.” He meets Pru’s eyes as the woman nods. She’s obviously not worried at all.

The enticing scent of popcorn has him sticking out a hand and bringing it blindly to his mouth. “Yesss,” he hisses as the Wanderer finally takes the bait, beginning to move casually through the crowds toward Z. The woman is idly playing with one glove as she walks, clearly anticipating slipping it off as she brushes past him in the crowd to administer her fatal touch. She’s their toughest target, and she’s about to go down.

It was easy enough to orchestrate the downfall of the Council of Spiders here. Certainly much simpler than in his world, although admittedly that had been fun, too. Jason has a certain flair when it comes to his work that makes him an excellent partner. All those explosions, though… Timothy shakes his head. Yes, it was far simpler here. Of course, he’d had all his previously gathered detailed intel on the abilities, strengths, weaknesses, probable plans, and histories of each member of the Council of Spiders. It was child’s play to set up false assassinations, with League of Assassins members playing the parts of both the supposed victim and the assassins. And now it’s all playing out according to plan.

On the screen, the Wanderer comes abreast of Z just as he steps through the busy exit opening onto Westminster Bridge Road. Timothy, Tim, and Pru all lean forward, rapt, as the Wanderer smiles victoriously and brushes her bare fingers against the back of Z’s hand.

And _collapses,_ an expression of utter shock on her lovely face.

“Yes!” Timothy crows, pumping his fist and almost upsetting the bowl of popcorn. “It worked!”

Tim catches the popcorn, then turns to eye him with brows climbing toward his hairline. “Wait, why do you sound surprised? You _knew_ this would work. You designed the compound to neutralize the Wanderer’s innate toxicity yourself. Right?”

“Well…” Timothy draws the word out. “It _may_ have been more a theory than anything else, until we put it into practice?” Seeing Pru beginning to look murderous — well, more murderous than usual — he hastily clarifies. “The Wanderer was dead in my world by the time I reverse engineered this from samples of her toxins. I had every reason to believe it would work as planned, just no way to test it until now. I _knew_ it would neutralize her toxins, I just wasn’t sure how her body would react to that. Worst case scenario, Z might have had to fight her hand to hand, but that would’ve been easy since without her toxicity, she’s lost her most potent weapon. Anyway, the highest probability was on her passing out from the shock once she was neutralized.”

Pru subsides, rolling her eyes. Tim stares at him a moment longer, wide eyed, before shaking his head and returning his attention to the screen. It looks like the assassin is not having any trouble with the extraction. A small crowd has gathered to watch, of course. Z’s holding the Wanderer’s hand and wearing an expression of attentive worry as he accompanies her into the bogus ambulance.

Pru taps her earpiece. “Oy, Z! Be a mate and pick me up some prawn cocktail crisps from Tesco while you’re over there, yeah?” She chuckles at Z’s response and starts updating him on Owens’ performance and the results of the other missions. 

Timothy leans back in his chair, satisfied, then frowns as he wishes once again he had some coffee right now. Well, they’ll be leaving the hospitality of the League soon enough. “Well, that went well.”

Tim turns to him, a determined gleam in his eyes. “So _now_ are you going to tell me how you got Ra’s to agree to leave them all alive?” He must spot the growing smirk on Timothy’s face, because his expression changes rapidly as he apparently reconsiders. “Oh my god, is this going to be gross? Please don’t tell me if you and Ra’s have been exchanging _favors_.”

Sweet, innocent Tim. It’s really for the best Timothy is here to help him. Who knows what kind of trouble he might have gotten into otherwise?

Timothy just laughs and shakes his head. “No, there was no need to go that far. I merely pointed out what a pity it would be to waste unique and potentially highly useful talent, when retraining might go a long way to bring them to the League’s side.” His smirk turns devious then. “Thus keeping our hands technically clean, and most likely weakening the League in the long run as they try to swallow unwilling prey, and choke on them in the end.”

Tim stares at him, unblinking, for a long moment, then shrugs. “Well, I guess that’s better than exchanging unnamed but probably horrifying favors with Ra’s. We about done here?”

Thinking of the explosions they have set, ready to blow half of the League of Assassins’ bases, Timothy nods. “Yep, we’re good to go. Let’s finish this thing.”

“Coffee first?”

It’s nice being on the same wavelength. “Of course.” Grinning, they both shove one last handful of popcorn in their mouths before keying in the codes to trigger the explosions. He might feel bad about doing this, but Ra’s more than deserves it in any world. Besides, he knows from experience the man enjoys a challenge and gets a special thrill from playing rough.

This is foreplay to him. Timothy smirks. Honestly, it’s foreplay to him, too.

“What are you thinking about?” Tim asks him suspiciously. Timothy starts to answer, but stops as his alternate shakes his head, blushing deeply. “Never mind, please don’t answer that. My imagination is bad enough.”

They’re laughing as they walk out of the base, the assassins too busy panicking and evacuating to bother chasing them.

* * *

####  **_Wayne Tower, Gotham_ **

Ra’s stands by the window overlooking the nightlight, barking orders into a radio clutched in his hand. His grand gold and green cape must be almost blinding him with how dark the office is. Honestly, Ra’s is as at least as bad as Bruce and himself when it comes to lurking and dramatics. There are two guards standing directly in front of the office; he and Timothy make quick work of them while his voice carries, careful to stifle any groans of pain that will alert Ra’s out of his melodramatics.

“Where is Red Robin?” Ra’s asks into his radio. Tim and Timothy wait for a response, having easily tapped into the League communications channels.

_All operatives have reported in. Targets are locked, awaiting confirmation. No one has a visual on Red Robin. Either of them._

Ra’s doesn’t answer for a moment. “How… disappointing.”

There’s genuine disappointment in his voice. Tim raises an eyebrow at Timothy — expecting, or hell, maybe just _hoping_ for him to echo his confusion — but Timothy has that fond look on his face again. There’s excitement in his eyes, Tim notes in bewildered exasperation, and is that the beginnings of a small lopsided smirk on his face? God, he really does resemble a gremlin, not to mention this is hardly the time to feel diabolical. They can celebrate having one up from Ra’s later.

Timothy tosses him a look. _You want to go first or should I?_

In true Bruce fashion, Tim answers by striding forward, dragging the guards by their shirts.

“Kill them all. Is that clear?” Ra’s waits for an answer. “…Respond.”

The radio crackles.

He digs his fingers into his radio. “Respond!”

He and Timothy chuck the guards onto the floor. Their bodies thud loudly enough for Ra’s to turn around. Instead of staying in his spot, however, Timothy strides forward, loosening his pose into something almost genuinely casual.

Tim can feel his eye almost twitching.

_What the hell is Timothy doing?_

“You sounded upset, Ra’s.” Timothy — and Tim almost boggles over it — Timothy tucks his hands into his trousers. “You didn’t like our parting gift?” His tongue flicks out to wet his lips. “Or is it that you missed us? There are better ways of getting our attention than threatening to kill off everyone we care about.”

_Oh god. Why are they looking at each other like that?_

Tim cringes as Ra’s and Timothy lock eyes, seeming to lean toward one another. Ew.

“Timothy,” Ra’s answers smoothly. “If you wished to get _my_ attention, it was entirely unnecessary to destroy half my bases in order to obtain it.” His voice drops an octave. “I assure you, it has always been yours.”

Timothy chuckles, and his expression and body language melt into something that makes Tim blush and Ra’s straighten, his breathing picking up minutely. 

Honestly? Tim wants to die right then and there. Thankfully, sudden static from the radio splits their attention away from each other.

“Hello?”

Ra’s’s head snaps to the radio.

“ _Hello_? Calling Red Robin,” Bart says. “Is it time yet for us to report yet ‘cus we had a bit of a kerfuffle and Kon had to come in clutch for me and now I’m pretty sure we’re late according to your schedule—”

“Flash, shut up,” Kon hisses. “We could be breaking his cover right now.”

“But dude—”

“Seriously, man.”

“—we’re like ten minutes late though and Robin’s never that late! They’re probably finished right now—”

“Oh, Flash,” Timothy says fondly.

Tim sighs, bringing his own radio up. “Nope. Right on time. Unfortunately.”

“Sweet!”

“Sorry about that, Robin.”

“I’m quite alright, if you’re wondering, Master Robin,” Alfred chimes in. “My gratitude for the Calvary.”

“No problem, Alfred,” Tim says. “Everyone else. Report.” 

Ra’s only clutches the radio hard enough for his knuckles to whiten. His expression flattens into a stony, grim displeasure, before it morphs into a stormy rage as the rest of his team calls in.

Tim can’t help the swell of pride and affection at his friends’ voices — hell, even at _Damian’s_. And Tim can see that out of all the recalcitrant voices piping in, Damian’s voice rankled Ra’s the most. That wins points in Tim’s books.

“I realized you were playing with me,” Tim says. “But this is me refusing to play. Did you think I was going to run all around the city desperately trying to save everyone all by myself, or just with Timothy to help? I’m not Batman. I have _friends._

“Did you think that when we had access to your systems, we wouldn’t use it to find you? I memorized every shell company and face the League of Assassins has. Timothy knew of even more—” He turns to his counterpart, who’s opening his mouth as though about to say something that will most likely be nightmare-inducing, and winces. “No, don’t tell me how you knew, we’re still not talking about that.” Repressing a shudder, he turns back to Ra’s, who still looks grimly displeased at the failure of his plans for retaliation. “Did you think I wouldn’t look up League real estate holdings in Gotham? I’ve been checking them out since before I even got back to the city. I’ve had your assassins taken down. Now it’s _your turn.”_

Tim watches his expression throughout his speech. His mouth thins and his brow dips in displeasure. There’s tension in the room, thicker than the steel woven grappling rope Tim uses to swing himself. At least it isn’t sexual tension anymore. Ra’s, however, doesn’t explode like Tim expected him to. Instead, he looks at Timothy.

“How much of a hand did you have in this?” Ra’s asks. 

Timothy folds his arms. “As if any version of me would ever let you treat us like Bruce.”

“Hmm,” Ra’s says. “Very well. I find myself… intrigued.”

“Better than angry and stabby,” Tim mutters to Timothy.

“Agreed,” Timothy whispers back. Then smirks. “Although a little negotiated kink is never a bad thing—”

“No!” Tim frowns at him, then determinedly turns back to the villain, wondering in the back of his mind how long it will take him to invent brain bleach when this is all over.

“If what you said is true, then maybe a future in the League is not unforeseeable.”

It takes Tim more than a second to realize that Ra’s is staring at _him._

At _Tim_ -Tim.

And he’s staring hard enough to set Tim’s face on fire.

_…What?_

“I suppose this is one way to destroy Bruce’s legacy,” Ra’s says, and — oh god, is he _smirking_? “I would prefer to retain Timothy, of course, but I’m certain he will be needed back in his own universe eventually. I would not desire to go up against my own counterpart, or deprive him of his… _apprentice._ There will need to be reconditioning, of course, to wean you off all the unsavory habits Bruce cultivated in his apprentice, but your counterpart can assure you that this will be much more pleasurable in the long run.”

Timothy snorts. “You wish.”

"I do,” Ra’s pointedly tells him. 

“I don’t,” Tim says.

Then he unclips three smoke pellets from his belts and throws them at the ground. His mask clicks. It shifts, covering his mouth as purple smoke billows in the room.

“Whoa! Timothy!” Tim says, trying to slow down Timothy’s arm as he drops a few _dozen_ pellets of his own. “What are you doing? You’re putting enough powder to take out a herd of Kryptonians!”

Timothy doesn’t stop trying to put _more_ of the concentrate in. “That’s the goal, Timmy.”

“We want to knock Ra’s out, not kill him!”

“Tim.” Timothy gives him a _look._ “The guy basically skinny dips in the Lazarus Pit every summer. He can handle a few extra moles of this. Probably.”

“Excuse me?” Tim sputters. _“Skinny dipping?”_

Timothy ignores him. “Trust me, Tim. This will hardly kill him.” He’s almost certainly smirking, the asshole.

Tim shakes his head, wishing he could shake off the image of Ra’s skinny dipping as easily. Beside him, Timothy has his own mask. They snap their bo-staffs into shape, sliding their feet back into position. Ra’s coughs, and he looks startled by it. Then, as usual, his face turns stormy, before he forces a laugh.

“Oh, Detective,” Ra’s says. “You truly are a bag of surprises.”

He snaps into a roundhouse kick, his feet crashing through the glass. The window shatters, and his cape sweeps an arc through the floor.

Ra’s jumps through the window.

“Shit!” Timothy launches himself after him, skidding to a halt at the open window. “Do we have eyes down there?”

Tim shuffles through a list of contacts in his mind. “No. Lynx could.”

Timothy sighs. “No. It’s too late. A portal opened up — he had a magic user with him.”

“He got away?”

“Looks like it.”

Tim frowns, frustration spiking.

Sighing, Timothy puts a hand on his shoulder. “Cheer up, Tim. You didn’t even think you’d leave this place without Ra’s beating the life out of you when we went over how this might have gone without my assistance.”

“Yeah, but with two of us, I was hoping to wiggle out more answers at least.” Tim’s eyes slides over to Timothy. “Speaking of—”

“Segueing from ‘wiggle’? Nice.”

“No, not nice,” Tim says. “You and Ra’s? _Seriously?_ I’ve tried really hard not to ask questions or think about it, but honestly, you’ve made it impossible to ignore at this point.”

“Yes, nice,” Timothy says. “I said I would handle the distractions, didn’t I?”

“But by—” Tim does a flurry of hand movements in outrage. “—by doing _that_ with _him._ I was hoping you meant clever banter or something.”

Timothy cracks a smile. “He can be a gentleman when he wants to, you know? He even carried me up the stairs when my feet were sore once.”

Tim blinks. “I think my life just flashed before my eyes.”

“God, you’re dramatic,” Timothy says. “But then? So am I. You don’t have to worry about that, though. I’m a taken man now.”

Tim’s eyebrows are probably doing their best gymnastic impression. “What?” He’s pretty sure Timothy never mentioned anything about this before. Damn, he hopes it isn’t another supervillain.

 _“Tim!”_ Dick says, landing into a crouch onto the broken glass. “…. And another Tim? Tim number two?”

Timothy waves. “Hi.”

Damian follows, rolling into a crouch beside Dick. “Drake. I see you failed at containing Grandfather in this office. A disappointment as usual.”

“Damian,” Tim greets drily.

“Seriously, Tim. What’s going on here? Are you okay?” Dick asks. “After two months of zero contact, absolutely none, you come back just to get yourself involved with Ra’s al Ghul... and now there’s _two of you?”_

“Oh, that?” Tim says, sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah — I- I have a lot of explaining to do—”

His thoughts are interrupted by a pair of heavy boots crunching behind him, and Tim can’t stop himself from groaning.

“I see you’ve done some redecorating,” Jason says, absolute smugness dripping in his tone. Probably because, for the first time in history, he’s not the one in trouble with Alfred. “Some real feng shui going on in here. I like it.”

“Did you really have to bring him along with you?” Tim asks.

Dick folds his arms. “You deserved it.”

Although, Dick would be the last person Jason would listen to — they both know that.

Immersed in all the drama, Timothy looks at him, then at Jason, then at Tim again, then beams.

“I’m excited to finally meet you guys,” Timothy says. “Tim’s told me so much of you all. Especially you, Jason. He had nothing but praises to sing about you.”

All heads swivel to look at Tim.

“He did?” Dick asks dubiously.

“Preposterous,” Damian says.

“The Replacement did?” Jason asks incredulously. “This guy?”

“I did no such thing,” Tim says, after finding his voice. 

“He definitely did,” Timothy says, lying his pants off. “About how you’re ruthless, but nice sometimes. About how you’re smarter than you let others think you are. About how you have the dumbest jokes he’s ever heard. Although… I have to admit,” Timothy tilts his head up. “I would have never expected for you to be more handsome in person.”

Tim squawks, Jason freezes in his place, and Dick and Damian almost bowl over in disbelief.

Silence overtakes the office.

After a while, Timothy, that fearless bastard, has the gall to _wink_ at Jason.

Tim’s own face feels hotter than the desert.

The room echoes with the sound of his facepalm.

Yeah, so he’s had one or two crushes on Jason in the past but that was _in the past_ and definitely has no chance of thriving _now_ when Jason absolutely _resents_ the air which Tim breathes—

“You will cease this awful mating ritual at once,” Damian announces, “and you must never attempt it ever again. _Never.”_

“I wouldn’t say _never,_ ” Dick says, his voice shaking with mirth, “but Damian has a point in taking this whole conversation home. So let’s do that. Let’s go home, and you can… compliment Jason there, Tim.”

Tim wants to sink into the ground. “I — _I’m_ not complimenting him—”

“—I’m simply saying what we really think,” Timothy says smoothly. “We are the same person, after all.”

“ _Mating rituals,”_ Damian hisses.

“Home,” Dick wheezes. “Now. You okay there, Jason?”

Jason snaps himself from his frozen posture. “Yeah! Yeah. What Dickie-bird said.”

If Tim had looked closer at the whole ordeal, he would notice that Timothy mentioned himself being in a happy relationship. He would also notice how Timothy laid it on thicker than concrete the moment Jason showed up. But that is if Tim had looked closer at every mortifying thing that just happened in the last hour, and Tim — he’s just too good at exercising his wilful ignorance.

So that’s what he does, since Tim’s just not ready for whatever Timothy and Jason seem to be.

They head back to the Cave for debrief, and then most of the others scatter to shower, enjoy Alfred’s awesome cooking, and probably be horribly embarrassed by Timothy’s—well, everything. Dick pulls Tim aside after he’s gotten some rest, after he’s caught everyone up on the Timothy situation.

“I need to apologize to you,” Dick says. “I should have believed you when we have faced crazier things in our line of work. And I definitely shouldn’t have taken Robin away from you the way I did.”

Tim sighs, thinking about the conversations he and Timothy have had about that. Hearing about the deeper betrayal his alternate self experienced — actually having been _dating_ his Dick when the man took Robin away — kind of did a lot to put his own situation into perspective. Not that he’s allowing himself to think about _that_ particular entanglement, like, at _all._ Willful ignorance is a policy that’s served him well over the past days whenever Timothy hints at something he’s really not prepared to handle.

Anyway, he doesn’t want to hold on to his anger, hurt, and resentment any longer. He just wants his brother back. Tim bites his lip. “I think… you’re not the only one who should apologize. Damian needed the Robin mantle more than I did — I see that now. Being Red Robin… being my own person and setting my own expectations — it’s good for me. It’s what I need.”

 _No more shame,_ he promises himself. _No more punishment._

“I haven’t treated Damian and Stephanie as best as I could have either.” Tim shakes. “I will need to apologize to them for that.” 

“But you know that’s what we’re here for, right?” Dick’s hand tightens on his shoulder. “To be there for you, even when _you’re_ at your worst — _especially_ when you’re at your worst. I’ll always try to be there for you.”

“I know, Dick,” Tim says, warmth blooming in his chest. “I know.”

Dick carefully gathers Tim into a hug, and Tim forgets, at times, that Dick is young, new, and grieving — much like himself.

“I’m glad,” Dick whispers into the hug. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Tim hums, sinking into Dick’s tight hold.

“One last question, though.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s about Timothy.”

Tim pulls away, blinking curiously at Dick.

Dick doesn’t look too bothered or disturbed by his question. He looks almost entertained, in fact. “Do you think Timothy and me dated in his world?” he asks.

 _Christ,_ Tim thinks. The whole thing brings up too many dreams from when he was going through puberty.

 _Wilful ignorance,_ Tim chants. _Wilful ignorance._

“Honestly?” Tim says. “It wouldn’t surprise me.”

Dick smiles is too smug for Tim’s liking. “Interesting.”

“What tipped you off?’

“He checked out my ass while he thought I wasn’t looking. Then he didn’t stop even when I was _definitely_ looking.”

“Oh my god,” Tim whispers to himself. He cups his hands over his face. “Oh my god. How did you know?”

“He winked at me.”

“Oh my god,” Tim says again. “I’m a menace.”

That actually makes Dick laugh. “I almost feel sorry for Jason. Almost.”

* * *

Tim’s so glad to know that no matter what, his taste in pizza apparently doesn’t change across universes. Everyone else might find it disgusting, but a Tim Drake knows what’s good in life. All a man needs is an artichoke, Canadian bacon, and onion pizza. Mmm.

Damian can stop pretending to gag as he watches the both of them eat.

Actually, the three of them. Tim’s more than a little surprised that Jason likes the pizza as well, though Timothy had not been. He’d simply smirked as he watched Jason grab a slice, take a bite, and then shrug, “Not bad.”

Sitting next to him on the couch, eating his favorite pizza, it’s all Tim can do to stop the blush that’s trying to overtake his face. He’s just really close, and he smells really good. Cigarette smoke, leather, and body wash probably shouldn’t smell that good all intermingled together, but there’s something about that’s so purely _Jason_. And God help him, Tim loves it.

He just wishes that Timothy would stop looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

Or Dick with a grin and the occasional thumbs-up.

It doesn’t stop the fact that he can feel Jason’s body heat as he sits next to him, and he can’t stop glancing at the man’s profile. His heart is thumping hard because how can one man be so handsome? The shock of white hair falling over his forehead, the curly black hair otherwise, the teal eyes, the strong nose and jaw, the crooked smile and the one tooth that goes over another — it’s utterly adorable and _Timothy, will you stop smirking at him like that?_

Tim can appreciate handsome men, this means nothing.

They’re almost done with the pizza when there’s a cracking sound and the smell of ozone as suddenly, another Jason appears. He looks the same as the one next to Tim, except maybe a little older. Within two seconds of the man appearing, Timothy’s jumped into his arms, his legs wrapped around his waist, his arms around his neck, and is furiously making out with him. They both ignore Damian’s renewed gags that sound a little more genuine now and Dick’s pathetic attempts to ask questions.

Tim is just doing his best not to burst in flames. From out of the corner of his eye, he can see that Jason is bright red as well. Good. At least he isn’t suffering alone.

“So, I guess we’re acquainted in this other universe?” Jason asks him, his voice a little high, and Tim nods, a strange squeaking sound leaving his lips as he can’t tear his eyes away from the display in front of him. When all is said and done, there are some major differences between him and Timothy. Tim can’t even imagine being so… public in displaying his affection.

It feels like forever before Timothy tears himself away from his Jason’s lips. He narrows his eyes as he stares at Tim and the version of Jason next to him. “Get over yourselves, and then get a room.” He smirks knowingly, then turns back to his Jason who is still supporting his weight and holding him steady in his arms. Tim can’t help but wonder if that’s something that all Jasons can do. It looks… fun. He blinks rapidly, then licks his lips as he tears his eyes away from the sight with some difficulty. Very fun.

There’s a rumbling laugh from… Tim’s going to call the new guy Jay, just to make things easier. “Babe, give them a chance! Let me woo you.” He looks at Jason and smiles, jerking his head towards Timothy. “This one never had a chili dog before I took him out, but he loves them now. Pair it with a night at the ice skating rink? You’ll thank me.” He winks again, and Jason somehow manages to turn even redder.

Damian’s gagging sounds increase to the point that Dick actually looks worried about him. “Uh, if we’re not needed here, we’re just going to go—” He gestures over his shoulder toward the door.

 _“Mating rituals,”_ Damian hisses, looking an inch away from launching himself at the offending pair and wrenching them apart by bare force.

“Yep, we’re outta here.” Dick grins at all of them as he scoops a spitting, snarling Damian up in his arms and heads for the door. Turning back and wiggling his eyebrows at them, he winks. “Play nice!”

Jay turns back to look at Timothy. “But you ready to go, babe? Or do you have anything left to do?”

Timothy smirks. “Just you.”

Jay laughs again. “We’ll have to get on that then,” he whispers. “But first, you have a meeting with Black Mask. He wants to know if you’ll let him have a little bit more territory, and I think you should give it to him. He’s been good.”

Tim blinks at that. “Black Mask?” A shocked laugh leaves him. “What the hell are you guys talking about?”

“I might, perhaps, have a couple fingers in some crime pies,” Timothy says smoothly, as though he’s not dropping a number of bombs on Tim like it’s nothing. “My parents trained me well.” He smirks again. That really does seem to be the most common expression on his face, now that Tim’s thinking about it.

“More like you own the whole pies,” Jay adds. “But it’s what made me like you so much. I mean, your par—”

Timothy shakes his head gently. “Tim’s not like that. Or rather, his parents weren’t.” His gaze darkens for a moment. Jay furrows his brow in confusion, but doesn’t say anything else. “Just take me home, baby,” Timothy says, then turns to look at Tim. “But let me down first.”

Jay does, and Tim doesn’t know what to expect until Timothy’s arms are wrapped around him tightly, giving him a hug that Tim can’t help but melt into. “You’re going to be okay,” he whispers. “You won’t be alone. You have _family_ here, even if they aren’t the same as mine.” He kisses Tim’s cheek. “I know it’s hard to believe, but one day, you will.”

Tim’s eyes are wet as Timothy pulls away with a matching smile, walking backwards to Jay and grabbing his hand. The air crackles again, the scent of ozone fills the air, and before he knows it, they’re gone.

There’s a moment of silence as Tim swallows back what he’ll never admit is a sob as he watches the first person he felt could truly understand him leave.

But, maybe, not the last.

He turns to Jason, and he can’t help but let a smile across his face. “So…” Wow, this is awkward. Still, it’s not like he has much to lose. He looks right into those gorgeous teal eyes, wary now but — maybe a little hopeful? “Want to take me for a chili dog?”

Jason nods, smiling slightly and leaning toward him. “And then ice-skating?”

Tim shakes his head, heart hammering in his chest as that stupid smile grows into what he’s pretty sure is a giddy grin. “I think that’s a Timothy thing. I’m more of a skateboarder.”

Jason looks surprised, then grins back. “You’ll hafta teach me, but I think I could be into that.”

Oh, yeah. This is going to be awesome.

**Author's Note:**

> Between brainstorming, writing, grossing each other out about spiders, and doing the beta for this story, this work contains contributions from ayzengima, bewaretheboojum, myosotis, nanimok, njw, rider_of_spades, salazarastark, themandylion, silver_snow_77, and vellaphoria. Thanks, everyone, for all your ideas and effort in putting together this gift for Aze!
> 
> [Capes & Coffee Tim Drake discord server](https://discord.gg/bGhpCDn)  
> *  
> Writers: Nanimok, njw, Salazarastark, Vellaphoria  
> Betas: Ayzenigma


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